


Doused

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2241699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets covered in fairy dust during a hunt. It makes him completely irresistible. Oblivious, he insists on a drink before calling it a night, wreaking havoc on men, women, and Sam's tightly wound self-control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doused

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from [spn_masquerade.](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/) A big thank you to riyku for a fantastic beta and great advice.

**Part 1 of 3**  
  
It was fair to say that on a typical day, Sam Winchester was a damn good shot. But when your target was a six-inch fairy with the flight pattern and speed of a hummingbird, the difficulty level went up a notch. Sam lined up his sights, held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The fairy zagged out of the way at the last split second - just like it had the last four rounds. Sam lowered his 9mil, irritated. But it was okay. They were learning, and this time, Dean was ready.  
  
Dean swung the tire iron as soon as the shot went off. So focused on evading the bullet's trajectory, the fairy never saw it coming. In an explosion of glitter, the impact sent the fairy straight into the barn wall. It hit the old wood with a dull thwack before dropping in the grass, leaving a slick stain on the barn.  
  
Dean looked up at the gold dust slowly drifting downwards and settling over him. "Aww... what the hell is - " he broke off in a series of rapid sneezes.  
  
Sam crossed the field in a few long strides. Squatting down to check the body, he grimaced. "Yeah, it's dead. That should take care of the town's fairy ring problem for a while..." Sam trailed off as he watched his brother forcefully scrubbing at his leather jacket. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Dude, this shit is all over me!" Dean shrugged off his jacket and started shaking it.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. "It's just glitter. Alpha male ego aside, it won't actually hurt you."  
  
Dean glared at him and gave the jacket another shake, snapping it in the air. The glitter fluttered upwards before drifting back down to resettle on Dean's arms. Frowning, he rubbed a fingertip against his arm. "I don't think this is just glitter."  
  
Repressing a sigh, Sam looked at his brother, and then blinked. Dean looked kind of... _shiny_? Sam abandoned the tiny body and strode over to Dean.  He watched as Dean continued to poke at his arm. A fine gold powder dusted the skin of the inside of his arm. He watched his brother's calloused, thick finger push the dust across his skin, only succeeding in smearing it on the digit, too. He stared at that tender, pale skin. He stared and he wanted to -  
  
Sam swallowed rapidly and jerked his eyes up. The dust was _everywhere_. It was on the tips of his ears. It coated his hair, tipping the scale firmly towards blonde. Making it gleam under the moonlight, appearing luxuriant in a way that Dean's short hair never was. The golden powder was caught in his eyelashes, sparkling every time his lashes fluttered and Sam's chest constricted. It was brushed across his cheeks like women's powder, shining, but completely failing to conceal his freckles. It was even on his lips. Glistening on _that goddamn mouth_. Such a pretty mouth, and it was saying his name, saying -  
  
"SAM."  
  
He slammed back to reality with a jerk. "What?" Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him? Things hadn't been _this_ bad in a long while.  
  
Dean stared at him. "My face," he enunciated, as if this were his third time saying it. Which, to be fair, could possibly be true for all Sam knew. "Is it on it?" He demanded, waving his hand in front of his face, just in case Sam still wasn't getting the picture.  
  
"Ah, yeah," Sam said distractedly, grasping at composure as his thoughts raced. "Definitely." Sure, he'd always been a bit fucked up over Dean. As he'd hit puberty and his teenage years, what was once adoration and bickering and _normal_ love for his brother had sky-rocketed past normal and into nightmare. He knew it wasn't right. He knew it was screwed up even by Winchester standards. So he'd left. Fled to Stanford to get away from his brother and finally figure out what normal was supposed to be like. And it'd worked. He'd managed to pack all those thoughts and _desires_ deep down. Denied them oxygen and light, and here he was: hunting, fighting, living beside his brother just fine. If a stray thought surfaced every now and again, it was something he could deal with. Not the burn in his veins it'd been when he was seventeen.  
  
Staring at the dust gracing Dean's cheeks, Sam felt like he was back at step one.  
  
Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to dislodge the stuff. "Great. That's just great," he muttered.  
  
"I don't," Sam licked his lips. "I think you're right. I don't think it's glitter."  
  
Dean stopped and looked up at him. "Yeah?"  
  
"I think it's... fairy dust, maybe?"  
  
"Fairy dust," Dean repeated. "What does that mean?"  
  
"It means... " Sam was starting to have a pretty good idea. "I'm not sure yet."  
  
Dean shot him a withering look. "That was so helpful, Sam. Thank you," he deadpanned. "Now help me get it off." He stepped forward and Sam jerked back.  
  
"No way, I can't-" He put up his hands, warding Dean off. "You'll get it on me."  
  
Dean turned away, rolling his eyes and shrugging back into his leather jacket. "Such a bitch sometimes, Sammy."  
  
Sam's jaw clenched. "We should go back to the room and do some research. Figure out how to get it off."  
  
"I believe the technical term is 'shower', Sam."  
  
"Dean - "  
  
"Besides, I want to get a drink."  
  
Alarm spiked through Sam's nerves. He wanted to go out covered in that stuff? Looking like _that?_ So... so... _pretty_? "I don't think that's the best idea. We don't know what it does, we should -"  
  
" _Beer_ , Sammy." Dean was already striding back towards the Impala, tire iron resting on his shoulder like baseball bat. "I can drop you off at the room, or you can come with. Choice's up to you."  
  
Sam stared at the fairy dust shining in his hair and across the leather, at the breadth of his shoulders, and the slight bow of his legs as he sauntered across the field. The sight pulled at his gut. Stay at the hotel while Dean prowled some bar looking like _that_? "Like hell," he growled. Sam shoved the pistol into the back of his jeans and took off after him.  
  
Tonight was not going to end well. He could feel it.  
  
  
**Part 2 of 3**  
  
Sam had a problem. His eyes were riveted to Dean's hands on the steering wheel as he guided the vehicle around a curve. He controlled her easy, casually, steering firmly with one hand, while the other gripped it loosely. The wheel slid smoothly through the circle of his thumb and fingers, letting the leather-wrapped surface drag against Dean's palm. It was so easy to imagine exactly how that confident, knowing grip would feel wrapped around his -  
  
Sam jolted back so hard his head thumped against the passenger side window. Startled, Dean jerked the wheel, before quickly righting it again. He looked over, wide-eyed, at Sam. "The hell was that?"  
  
"I-" Sam fumbled, "had a muscle twitch." He squirmed, shifting his hips and tugging surreptitiously at the thigh of jeans.  
  
Dean shot him another look of disbelief before turning back to the road. "You haven't spazzed out like that since you were a kid."  
  
"Shut up," he shot back automatically, eyes glued on whatever was outside of his window. He stared blindly as the world rolled by. This was a problem. He had to get a grip. Sam closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Okay, they'd go to the bar. They'd have a few drinks, maybe a game of pool, and by then he'd be able to convince Dean to head back. Make him take a shower, and wash that gold crap off. And if a shower didn't work, they'd hit the books. Yeah, that was a plan. He just had to keep it together for a couple of hours. He could do this.  
  
Dean pulled into an empty parking spot and cut the engine. "What do you say, should we make some money while we're here?" He tapped his ring against the wheel.  
  
Sam's stomach flipped. His concentration was shot. If Dean wanted to hustle, this would be the worst performance of his life. "We're good for now, right? Besides, do you really think you can run a game right now? All they're going to see is a dude wearing a hell of a lot of glitter."  
  
Dean opened his mouth, offended, and Sam just looked at him, eyebrows raised. Dean turned away and scoffed. "Fine." The door creaked as he got out, and Sam hastened to follow, feeling like he'd dodged a bullet. But as the cool night air surrounding Dean shimmered with something that could only be described as an effervescent glimmer, he had to wonder. _Was_ that all they would see? A guy covered in glitter?  
  
Two women exited the bar, laughing as they went. As they pulled up even, Dean flashed them a smile, because when did Dean ever _not,_ and Sam got his answer. The laughter froze in their throats as they broke their necks turning to watch Dean go by. The brunette tripped in her heels and they burst into giggles.  
  
"Ha! Did you see that, Sammy?" Dean shoved an elbow into his side. "Even covered in glitter, chicks just can't help themselves."  
"Yeah, okay, Edward."  
  
Dean stepped through the entrance without responding, deliberately shutting the door in Sam's face. Grimacing, Sam yanked the door open to find Dean had already made a beeline to the bar.  
  
Sam only made it three steps before he came to a halt, instincts screaming. The place was hopping. Chattering voices, the clack of a cue ball, and a half decent sound system were all competing with one another. But watching Dean make his way to the bar, the hairs on the back of his neck went up.  
  
Eyes caught and lingered on his brother with every step he took. Women, men, it didn't matter. Sheer possessiveness rushed through him, and he gritted his teeth against it. He wanted to cross the room and be as close to Dean as physically possible, preferably with full body contact.  Show the entire bar exactly how off-limits his brother was.  
  
Yeah, he could only imagine how well that would go over with Dean. He huffed in amusement, and the tension humming through his body broke and dissipated. What _the hell_ was in that dust?  
  
Dean turned back around, two beers in hand, and jerked his chin towards an empty pool table. Sam followed, subtly checking out the patrons as he went. As Dean wove through the crowd most of them gave him a once, maybe twice-over, then went back to their conversations. Sam counted at least a half dozen however, that didn't. More men than women, surprisingly. Their eyes clung, following his brother to the table.  
  
Dean set their beers on the nearby high top and stepped over to the rack to grab two cue sticks. Sam picked up his beer and turned, leaning against the pool table. He made eye contact, one by one, with each of the strangers tracking his brother. _I see you,_ he said. He took a pull of his beer, never looking away from them.  
  
"Damn, Sammy. Tone it down a little, huh?" Dean's voice cut in, and Sam looked over just in time to catch a cue tossed his way. "You like you're about to start knocking off the civilians."  
  
Sam made a noncommittal grunt and turned back to the table. Dean shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on a stool. As he began to roll up his sleeves, Sam started racking up the balls. He slid the rack to a quick stop, packing the balls tight, and absolutely did not look at the corded muscle of Dean's arms as he chalked the tip of his cue.  
  
Mouth suddenly dry, Sam swallowed and removed the rack. "You break." He stepped back as Dean took his place. Dean bent at the waist, shoulders tilted as he lined up the shot. The yellow light of the lamp hanging above their table shone down over him, combining with the fairy dust to make him look sun-kissed and golden. His green eyes gleamed as he took the shot. A crack, and the billiard balls flew across the table. Dean pocketed one straight off. Sam took a drink, desperately wishing it was something stronger than beer.  
  
Dean made a couple more shots while Sam was definitely _not_ checking out his ass, before failing to sink one. Grateful for the distraction, Sam studied the table, rounded a corner and leaned over to line up his shot.  
  
A bright, coy female voice cut through his concentration, and the cue stick dipped awkwardly above the felt.  
"You know, you're really good at this."  
  
Sam's eyes flicked up across the table to find a woman suddenly standing next to Dean, with maybe only a foot between them. Her riotous red curls tumbled over her shoulders as she tilted her head to look up at him. Sam felt a hot flash of irritation as Dean's eyes tripped down her body and back up again, clearly enjoying the view.  Dean gave her that lopsided smile he always used when he thought he was being charming.  
  
Deliberately unclenching his jaw, Sam forced his attention back to the game.  
  
"What can I say? With enough practice, you can learn all kinds of skills," Dean said, cocky as ever.  
  
Sam barely refrained from rolling his eyes, focusing instead on aiming the shot. He pulled his elbow back.  
  
"Maybe there's something else you'd like to practice?" she teased.  
  
His shot went wide at the incredible lewdness infusing her words, sending the cue ball rolling ineffectually across the surface. Sam stared up at her, and even Dean looked a little surprised by her forwardness. Being propositioned in less than a minute had to be a new record, even for him. She didn't pay any attention to Sam. He might as well have been invisible, she was so fixated on Dean. Her eyes roved hungrily over his body before moving back to his face.  
  
Sam's stomach clenched, and he leaned the cue stick against the table in a tight, controlled motion. Grabbing his beer, he downed the dregs and headed to the bar, thoughts storming. The desire to turn around and tell the woman to back the hell off dragged on every step, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Fairy dust or not, Dean deserved to get laid if he wanted to. He had every right to take her up on her offer if that's what he wanted.  
  
He set the empty bottle on the bar. Catching the bartender's eye, he called above the racket. "Two more," he said, gesturing to the empty. "And a bourbon, neat." He looked out over the crowd, but his eyes inevitably dragged back over to Dean. The woman was even closer now; pressed up against him, one hand clutching his arm.  
  
Sam tore his eyes away, burning at the sight. He turned back to the bar and braced his hands against the tacky surface.  His eyes squeezed shut and he slowed his breathing. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck, and Sam gave his head a shake, trying to clear his thoughts.  
  
This wasn't right. Seeing Dean flirting with women had always sucked. Smelling him reeking of sex when he'd quietly slip back into their room in the dead of night always felt like a jab in the gut. But _this_... this was different. This was teetering on the edge of control. It had to be the fairy dust. And if it was making _him_ feel this crazy, this short of breath, when he had a very, very good culturally imposed reason not to, he could only imagine what some of the other people in the room must be feeling.  
  
"Hey!" A forceful hand clapped his back, jarring him. Dean was suddenly right there beside him, but too close, far too close. "First you abandon me with the crazy lady, and then you don't even bring the drinks back. You make for a crappy wingman, little brother." He grabbed the bourbon and downed it.  
  
Sam stared as his throat worked, swallowing the warm liquor. Dean thumped the empty glass down on the bar, licking a stray drop off his lips and a tremor went through Sam's hands. His mind raced. The lunch lady from sixth grade. The lunch lady and ghouls eating dead flesh and being sprayed with that putrid mystery bodily fluid from that creature back in Nevada. The look of horror that'd be on Dean's face if he knew.  
  
The mental image doused his arousal like a bucket of freezing water. He ran a jittery hand through his hair. He wasn't sure how much more of this whiplash he could take in one night. But something must've shone in his face, because Dean peered at him over the now empty tumbler.  
  
"Alright there, Sam?" he asked, voice a low rumble.  
  
Sam made himself look away and managed a tight smile. He couldn't stand to have that attention so focused on him right now. He couldn't stand it, and it was all he wanted. It was a familiar feeling. Maybe _that's_ what the fairy dust did, besides making Dean even more devastating than usual. It turned you back into an angst ridden, horny sixteen year old.  
  
"You mean aside from you stealing my drink? Fine, man." Dean shot him a skeptical look, but let it go. A thought niggling at his brain abruptly clicked into place. "You left that woman," he said, incredulously.  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow as he tipped the beer to his lips. "Yeah?"  
  
"You said she was crazy," Sam persisted. "Why?"  
  
He shook his head. "I dunno, dude, something was off. She was just fucking pushy. And not the good kind, either. The weird, grabby hands kind of pushy."  
  
A follow-up question leapt to his tongue, but his attention snagged on a man on the other side of Dean.  He stood further up the bar, a hand wrapped around his drink, and was completely fixated on Dean, covetous eyes roaming over his body.  
  
Okay, time to adjust his theory. Sam was the only one with angst. Everyone else just wanted to fuck his brother. A muscle in his jaw ticked.  
  
Oblivious with his back to the man, Dean took another swig of his beer. "Alright, let's finish the game and get out of here."  
Sam nodded slowly. "I'm just gonna settle up."  
  
Dean grunted in acknowledgement and started off back to their table. Sam watched as the man at the bar was glued to every movement. He threw two twenties down on the sticky surface, and casually strolled up the bar, closing the gap between them. The man's eyes were fixed on Dean's ass like his life depended on it, and he shifted his weight forward as if to follow after him.  
  
"Hey," Sam barked. The man jumped at the noise, doing a double-take, before blinking up at him fuzzily. "Don't even think about it," he said, a bit of the menace he usually reserved for all things monstrous creeping into his voice. "He's not interested."  
  
It took a long moment for Sam's words to kick in, like the guy was wrapped in a blanket of fog. The man's face twisted.  
  
"What's it to you?" he asked. For all their potential, the words weren't hostile, they were distracted, almost lethargic. And as soon as he'd gotten them out he started squirming, trying to peer around Sam to get another glimpse at his brother.  
  
The small, faraway piece of Sam that was still thinking rationally recognized it as a good thing that the stranger's tone hadn't been aggressive. Sam's temper and nerves were on edge, rapidly fraying over the course of the evening, and right now a much louder, more present side was telling him to grab the guy and smash his face into the bar top.  
  
Sam grabbed him by the collar, polo shirt stretching in his fist. The guy's eyes went wide, finally leaving Dean and locking on him. He took a fortifying breath and made himself let go. He pressed his hand against the guy's collarbone, long fingers covering the base of his throat. "I said," he repeated quietly, "he's not interested."  
  
Satisfied that he had the guy's attention, Sam thumped him against his collarbone and let him go. He snagged his beer and headed towards the pool table. The lamp over the table shone on Dean like a spotlight as he checked the angles and took a shot, sinking one in the corner pocket. Sam felt his heart skip and something told him it wasn't just the fairy dust talking.  
  
Forward motion in his peripheral vision caught his eye and his lip curled. A man was making a beeline straight for Dean, face clouded over with the same single-minded haziness the guy at the bar had. Sam's long legs ate up the floor, quickly catching up with the guy. He casually hooked a foot around the guy's ankle, sending him tripping mid-stride. Sam caught him, one hand curled around his bicep, the other at his chest, and firmly set him on his feet. The faint stink of unwashed skin and alcohol hit him. Drawing up to his full height, he tightened his grip just enough to let the man feel his strength.  
  
"He's not for you," he said through a smile that was all teeth. He didn't blink as he stared down into the man's dilated, rapidly widening eyes. "Go away." He said it slowly and distinctly, infused with threat. With another flash of teeth he released him, giving him a push just firm enough to send the guy stumbling backwards.  
  
Turning his back on him, Sam maneuvered around the tables between him and his brother. He rounded the pillar and the sight of Dean chalking his cue, a tiny frown of concentration on his gorgeous face, sent a wave of desire laced with territoriality crashing over him. The compulsion to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, reel him in and bruise his lips against his own was terrifying in its intensity. Desperate for solid ground, he reached out and slid his hand over Dean's leather coat where it lay draped over the stool.  
  
"Dean," he said, voice hoarse as he traced the creases worn into the leather over years of abuse and love. Dean turned just enough to look over at him. "Can we leave now? Please?"  
  
His frown deepened as his eyes took in Sam's hand on his coat, concern lining his brow. "Yeah, Sammy." He hung his cue stick back up on the rack. "Imma take a leak and we'll go."  
  
A trickle of relief ran through Sam. He didn't turn to watch him go. Instead, he lurched to the table, hands gripping its edges, knuckles white and eyes unfocused. It was almost over. Dean would come back. He'd get through the close-quarters drive back to the hotel, shove Dean into the shower, and then it would be over. This cursed fucking night would be over, and Dean would never know that his little brother was in love with him.  
  
Eyes screwed shut, he clung to that hope. Held it fast and tried to calm the adrenaline rushing through him. How many times had he tried to focus himself tonight? It'd only been an hour, two tops, since they'd been hunting that damn fairy. And yet it felt like he'd been running a marathon. Ruthlessly, he shoved that train of thought away. It didn't matter how tired he was, this was the homestretch. He could get through this, and then the world would turn right-side up again.  
  
Forcing his shoulders back and his spine straight, he cast a look over the crowd. It was busier than ever, the laughter and shouts competing with the pounding beat of the music. His eyes swept over the bar, searching for the man in the polo that'd been ogling Dean, but he came up empty. _Good_. Something pacing through the back of his mind settled, satisfied that he'd scared the asshole off.  
  
Sam scanned the crowd for the other guy. Nothing. Unease started to creep in and Sam looked again. He didn't see him. He didn't see him anywhere. Maybe they'd both left. His brow furrowed. Yeah, somehow he doubted it. But it was okay, cause they were leaving as soon Dean got back any second - his breath seized. Spinning on his heel, he took off for the bathrooms at a run.  
  
He dodged one man but shoulder checked another as he pushed through the crowd as fast as possible, heedless of the sounds of shattering glass and angry shouts behind him. The bass on the sound system overhead thudded in time with his heart as he strained to hear. He skidded to a halt just outside the restroom doors. A muffled yell sounded out and that's all it took to send Sam crashing through the men's room door. "Dean!"  
  
With the responses drilled into him since he was a child, Sam sized up the scene in a split second. Both of his guys were there, plus one other - a man just off work in slacks and button-down shirt. One of the mirrors was cracked, glass sprinkling the floor, and a trashcan knocked askew, vomiting its contents of used paper towels, condom wrappers all over the floor. The man Sam had tripped earlier was flying back, arms pinwheeling until he hit the wall with a thud. Polo shirt and the businessman were struggling to hold Dean against the wall, face smashed into the tiles. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead and a lump that was rapidly swelling. "Sam!" his brother yelled.  
  
Blood rushed through his body so fast black dots swarmed his vision. He surged forward, seizing the polo shirted man by threading his left arm under his armpit, grabbing his shoulder, and the right wrapped python-tight around his neck. Grunting with the weight, he hauled him backwards off of Dean. Sam flattened his right arm and pressed the edge of his radius into the guy's neck, scissoring his throat between his forearm and bicep, cutting off his air supply. The man sputtered and choked, fingers clawing at the arm around his neck. A fist flailed, pounding into his side, and Sam grunted. Lip pulling into a snarl, he tightened his hold, using his height to pull _up,_ not letting the man regain his footing.  
  
As soon as Sam had pulled the guy off, Dean turned the tables on the businessman. Pushing hard off the wall, he sent the man staggering backwards. He turned to face him head-on just fast enough to dodge sideways, ducking a poorly thrown punch, and followed it up with one of his own. The full force of his fist caught the man just below his eye. He dropped like a bag of hammers, head bouncing off the dirty slate floor.  
  
The third man re-entered the fray, rushing him, boots sliding over shards of glass and sending them both crashing down over the sink counter.  
  
The man struggling in Sam's arms faltered, growing weak. An arm flailed one last time, hand grasping at him feebly before falling limp as he blacked out. Chest heaving, Sam willed himself to let go, letting the man crumple to the floor.  
  
Sam lunged across the floor, grabbed the third man and heaved him off the counter. He used the momentum to slam the guy into the wall face first. Cartilage crunched and a spray of blood hit the tiles as his nose broke on impact. He stepped back just far enough to spin the guy around and shove him against the wall, the force sending the man's breath punching out of his lungs.  
  
Behind him, Dean cursed low, pain in his voice. With a growl, Sam drove a fist into the guy’s gut. The man cried out, his voice a strangled, wet sound. Anger pumping through his veins like life's own blood, Sam took a step back. Reaching around, he pulled his pistol from the back of his jeans. He slipped the safety off and pressed the muzzle snug under the man's chin.  
  
"Holy shit, Sam," Dean swore behind him.  
  
Sam ignored him. He gripped the man's hair and yanked his head back, fingers tight in the sweaty hair, throat long and exposed. Tears started streaming from his eyes, chest heaving as he gasped for air, quickly sliding into hyperventilation. Sam just dug the pistol in deeper against his flesh.  
  
"I told you that he's _not for you_ ," he said, voice shaking.  
  
"Sam, Sam - " Dean's voice came calm and gentling. He slipped a hand up to cover Sam's grip on the 9mm with his own callused palm. "Sammy, c'mon, put the gun down. He's human."  
  
"He tried," he started, pushing his words past gritted teeth. Sweat slipped into his eyes, stinging. "They were going to - " Sam stopped. He didn't know what he thought. He didn't know what the men were going to do. Only that they had wanted Dean, and Dean was _his_.  
  
Dean wet his lips, "Yeah, yeah, they were real asshats. But that doesn't mean we kill them." His voice stayed steady and his thumb swept over Sam's hand in his grip. "I-I get it now, Sam." Tension edged his voice, the fake calm used to talk people down off the ledge. "The fairy dust is making people crazy."  
  
Sam shook his head vehemently. "No," he insisted, pressing the gun, eliciting a whimper. The line of body heat at his back burned, making it hard to concentrate. "It's _you_ , Dean. It's always been you." His voice rose, snarling, "And they think they can have you, they - "  
  
"Hey!" Dean cut him off. "Hey, hey, look at me." He let go of the gun and slid around the wall. Cupping a hand around Sam's jaw he forced him to meet his eyes. The sight of blood slipping down Dean's temple nearly severed the fragile leash on his control. " _Look_ at me, Sam." Quivering with effort, Sam blocked out the trembling man before him, focusing on the low timbre of Dean's voice, the strength of his hand pressing against him. "No one has me, alright?" Dean's eyes pinned him, searching his own. "I don't know what the hell kind of crazy is going on but no one has me. I'm right here with you."  
  
Dean pressed so close, Sam could smell him. A scent so deeply familiar, but what was usually a source of comfort in the aftermath of a fight, now fed the frenzy of adrenaline and anger and longing coursing through him. Now that the fight was over, and he had the last man pinned and utterly powerless, the anger was quickly leeching away and tipping into lust. Sam closed his eyes and breathed deep, chest expanding.  
  
"Dean," he said, not opening his eyes. "We need to leave."  
  
Dean gave a small, relieved laugh. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, man." He let go, moving away, and Sam bit his tongue at the loss. Slowly, Sam slipped the safety back on and took the muzzle away. The man slumped in relief and then Sam brought the butt of the gun down on his temple, sending him to the floor in an unconscious pile. Dean twitched like he was about to say something then thought better of it. Sam tucked the gun back in his waistband.  
  
"Okay, Sasquatch. Now let's get the hell - " Dean reached for him, and he immediately danced back, avoiding him. One more touch and he knew he'd be gone. There'd be no going back. " - out of here," Dean finished lamely. Corners of his mouth turned down, Dean held up his hands and backed off a step.  
  
Wordlessly, Sam stepped over the unconscious businessman and held the door open for Dean. They vacated the bar as quickly as possible, pausing only to snatch up Dean's coat. Then they were off into the night before anyone could raise the alarm over the devastation in the bathroom.  
  
  
**Part 3 of 3**  
  
Sam stumbled into the motel room, following blindly after Dean, and realized he couldn't quite remember the car ride back. It was like a fever dream. All he could remember was a long torturous blur of being trapped next to Dean in the car. He was achingly hard, had been since before they left the bar, and _he could not handle this anymore._  
  
Dean was speaking to him, saying something, but he couldn't hear a word. His eyes darted around the dark room, frantic. He spotted the radiator and knew what to do. He'd keep Dean safe. Safe from his twisted little brother and the effects of this goddamn cursed dust. Sam whipped his pistol out and Dean jerked back instinctively. He ejected the half spent magazine, letting it clatter to the floor, and charged the gun once, expelling the seated round, then tossed it onto the bed furthest from the radiator.  
  
Cuffs _. Cuffscuffscuffs._ His eyes landed on the duffle and he strode towards it. But Dean was faster, slipping between him and the bag, hands raised, palms open. Sam jerked to a stop before he actually made contact. His heart pounded in his ears and his blood sang. _Look at him_ , it crooned. _Touch him_. He could see Dean's lips moving, green eyes urgent, but he couldn't make out his voice. It was too far away, echoing and tinny.  
  
Pressing a fist to his eyes, he refocused. In through the nose, out through the mouth, Dean's voice whispered in his head, cutting through the noise. He opened his eyes and the room shifted into clarity, full volume sound rushing back.  
  
"Sam!" Dean's voice in his ear, loud and afraid.  
  
"Dean," he said, breathless and weak. "Dean, you have to move. I-I need them." He stabbed a finger at the duffle. "I need them."  
  
"Need _what,_ Sam? What's going on?"  
  
"Cuffs!" His hands flew to his hair. "I can't stop it. I can't stop myself. I need the cuffs."  
  
"Sam, stop it! You're _fine_. Is it the dust? Cause I'll go shower right now, I'll scrub myself raw, but you gotta calm down, man. You gotta chill the fuck out and breathe before you give yourself a heart attack." He moved before Sam could stop him. He put both hands on Sam's arms, gripping him tight, ‘cause that's what they did. Physical contact when shit hit the fan, ‘cause Sam was afraid to touch too much, and Dean lived and died by his macho fucking persona.  
  
Dean touched him, and Sam felt the dam shatter. "I'm so sorry." He choked around tears. "Please don't hate me."  
  
Dean shook his head, negating it automatically, bewilderment and worry pouring off him. "Sam, you're scaring me. What - "  
  
The urge, the compulsion, the driving _need_ broke over Sam like a tsunami, rolling over every defense he had. He surged into Dean, lips crashing into his, teeth clacking. Dean froze, stiff as a board, but Sam didn't even pause. Implacable as a runaway train, he pushed Dean into the wall, mouth moving over his, hungry and inconsolable. Dean tripped over the duffle, feet scrabbling for purchase, and his head thudded against the paneling.  
  
Dean's hands pressed against his chest, pushing futilely, struggling to speak. "-am!" Sam just held on tighter, one arm around his shoulders, the other wrapping around his waist, pulling him against his body. He pressed into him, slotting the hard hot length of his cock into the groove of his hip, and Dean squawked. "Sam!"  
  
Sam broke the one-sided kiss, gasping, and pressed his forehead against his brother's. "Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean," he chanted.  
  
Dean sucked down air. "Sam. What the fuck. What are you - " he stuttered, as Sam nosed down the uninjured side of his face, and licked a hot wet stripe over his jaw line, tongue scrapping on stubble. Sam shoved his nose into the crease of his neck and inhaled. He sighed, mind numb, at the smell of aftershave and leather. "Sammy. This isn't you. It's the curse." Dean shoved at his chest. "You don't want this."  
  
Sam's eyes snapped open, drinking in the sight of Dean utterly wrecked. Eyes dilated with just a hint of green ringing the black, parted lips glistening and swollen, chest heaving for air. Sam throbbed at the sight, cock twitching in his jeans. Before Dean could blink, Sam grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the wall, forearms pressed together. "Yeah," he breathed. "I do. I really, really do."  
  
He leaned in, taking Dean's bottom lip between his teeth and gently bit down. Dean gave a full body shudder, eyelids falling to half-mast, and Sam released his mouth, smiling against his skin. He shifted minutely to the left and found Dean just as hard as he was. "Tell me you want it, Dean. Tell me you need this as bad as I do."  
  
His hips started moving against Dean's, a slow dragging pressure and press of denim on denim against his dick. Sam brushed their lips together. Teasing, but not taking. He rolled his hips up into him, aligned their cocks and rutted against him. A strangled moan fell from Dean's lips. "Fuck, Dean," he gasped. " _Please_."  
  
His broken plea struck like a match on tinder and Dean heaved forward, slamming his mouth into Sam's and sending them both stumbling across the unlit, cramped room. The back of Sam's knees hit the bed and he fell, pulling Dean down with him. Dean's weight sent the breath whooshing out of him and Dean took advantage, licking into his mouth. Dean kissed him like he was starving for it, with both hands buried in his long hair and knees straddling his thighs.  
  
Sam's hands moved down his back, muscles shifting beneath his fingers, before grabbing Dean's ass and pulling him down flushed against him. He planted one foot on the bed and pushed his hips up, grinding into him in a move that sent Dean's hips jerking.  
  
" _Sammy_." The slurred moan sent another wave of arousal flushing through him and a blurt of precome wet his dick.  
  
He kissed Dean hard then licked down his throat, white teeth nibbling at the salty skin. His tongue dipped into the hollow between throat and collarbone before his teeth closed down on the meaty juncture where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. Dean bucked against him and his hands tightened, holding Sam's head in place as he bit down.  
  
"Gonna mark you up," Sam murmured, smoothing his tongue over the tender skin. "So they all know," he panted. "Know who you belong to."  
  
Snaking a leg around Dean's hip, and leveraging with his foot against the bed, Sam rolled Dean under him. He was struck momentarily dumb by the sight and sound and feel of Dean sprawled underneath him. He covered Dean's heart with one large hand, feeling it race beneath his palm, then leaned down and kissed him breathless, hair falling around them both. His tongue brushed Dean's, and a part of him wanted to pause this moment. Not go any further, just stay right there and trade kisses, learning each other's mouths. But the frenzied need wouldn't let him. The red haze drove him onwards to know, to claim.  
  
Lifting up and sitting back, his hands slipped to Dean's belt. Dean craned his neck upward to watch as Sam undid his belt and popped the button, and if Sam's hands shook a little, his brother didn't say a word. He eased the zipper down, finally seeing the thick shape of Dean's cock, fat in his boxer briefs. He dragged his thumb from the base to the head, cotton damp and slick at the tip. Dean made an inarticulate sound, hips thrusting, trying in vain for more contact.  
  
Sam hushed him as he massaged the crown with his thumb. "Shh." Dean thrust again, and Sam pressed a forearm low over his abs, forcing him down. He mouthed at the rigid shaft, leaving wet spots on his boxers and worked his way down to his sac. Sam pressed his nose against the warmth and breathed in the musky scent of him. It sent a throb through his balls, and he clenched his teeth. He sat up abruptly, and Dean let out a needy sound. Grabbing Dean's shirts he pulled, tugging eagerly until his brother got with the program, lifting his arms and back so Sam could get them _off._ He needed it _all_ off. He needed Dean naked and flushed and spread out beneath him right the fuck now.  
  
He rose up off him, pausing only to lave his tongue over a dusky nipple before going for his boots. His fingers flew over the laces until they were loose enough to tug off. Dean was already scrambling out of his jeans and underwear, shoving them down his thighs until Sam yanked them off each leg. His cock smacked against his flat stomach, head red and glistening. Sam stopped. He couldn't look away as he kneeled on the bed and palmed his cock.  
  
Dean was beautiful. He'd already known that, of course. And he'd sneaked furtive, mock-casual glimpses of him over the years, trading off showers and bandaging each other up. But this was different. This time he was allowed to look.  
  
The only light in the room trickled in through a crack in the curtains. It painted his brother's body in blue shadows and a swath of yellow across his belly. His shoulders were wide and powerful, the mark from Sam's teeth darkening already. It'd be a bruise come morning. Dean's hands fisted at his sides, and his stomach rose and fell with each breath, unsteady with desire. Sam's eyes drifted over the proud jut of his cock, following the thick vein down to the base and balls, surrounded in a light patch of curls. And then the junction of his thighs, thick and bowed and going to fit perfect over the crook of Sam's arm when he slid his dick into that tight -  
"Jesus Christ, Sam," his brother huffed, subdued tone at odds with his words. " _Do_ something for crying out - " Dean choked off as Sam wrapped a hand around his dick, pumping it slow and firm. With a smirk, Sam bent to kiss him, not quite making it before Dean brought him to a halt, fisting his hair. "Clothes. Off," he growled.  
  
Sam smiled at him and rubbed a thumb over the tip of his cock, gathering up the wetness he found there. He looked Dean in the eyes as he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it clean, a salty bitterness hitting his tongue. Dean's breath hitched and he grabbed his dick, fisting the head as his hips left the mattress.  
  
The urgency that had lifted long enough for Sam to stop and admire his brother came crashing back down over him. With a yank, he sent his flannel and t-shirt flying. Jumping off the bed, he snatched his duffle bag from the floor and started rifling through it.  
  
"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered before he found what he was looking for. Letting the bag fall with a thump, Sam tossed lube and a strip of condoms onto the bed. Dean tilted his head to watch them land and Sam could almost see the second thoughts starting in his head. There was no way in hell Sam was going to let that happen.  
  
Grabbing Dean behind the knees, he dragged him down the bed until his legs were hanging over the edge, framing his waist. He grasped Dean's chin and held him in place for a filthy, wet kiss, while he ground their cocks together. His jeans dragged on Dean's skin and his gut clenched at the thought that they might smell like his brother when he put them on in the morning. With a final nip at Dean's throat, Sam dropped to his knees.  
  
"Thought I told you," Dean gasped to catch his breath, grumbling, "to take that shit off." Sam ignored him in favor of spreading his thighs wide and admiring the view. He ghosted a hot, damp breath over Dean's balls before sucking first one, and then the other into his mouth, massaging his tongue against them in turn. He let them slip from his mouth and turned to press a kiss on the soft flesh of Dean's inner thigh. His thumb moved to circle over his brother's furled hole, and Dean froze. "Sam - "  
  
His tongue replaced his thumb, and Dean's voice broke off with a small cry. Sam's eyes fell shut at the sound and he had to pause. It was almost too much. Getting what he'd wanted for so long. He took a long, shuddering breath, steadying himself, before starting again. Sam swirled his tongue around Dean's entrance before pushing in past the tight muscle, hands rubbing soothingly up and down his thighs, and his brother melted around him. Fucking his tongue in and out, he moved a hand up to rub at his taint, and Dean's hips jerked under his tongue.  
  
His own cock hard enough to pound nails, Sam unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans. He moaned against Dean's hole at the relief on his dick, then groped blindly around the bed until his fingers found the lube. Sam brushed his lips over Dean's thigh once more, then popped the cap and dripped slick onto his fingers. Pressing the tip to Dean's entrance, he looked up and was caught. Dean stared back at him, lips parted and eyes dark with lust, but there was hesitation, too.  Dean licked his lips, and a tremor ran through Sam's arm as he fought to hold back. Fairy dust glinted on his cheek in the half-light. Sam swallowed. "Dean."  
  
That was all it took. Hesitation vanished and the corner of Dean's mouth twitched upwards. Without warning, he rocked his hips forward and Sam's finger slid into Dean's heat smooth and easy. Sam's breath seized and his brain stuttered at the sight of his finger disappearing with every roll of Dean's hips. With a jerk, he forced himself back into motion, and after a few strokes in and out, he added a second. With his other hand, he grasped Dean's cock and pumped it in time with the slow thrust of his fingers, thumb swiping over the head with each pass. Sam twisted his wrist and crooked his fingers, searching out the spot that would have Dean seeing stars, and _there_. A string of unintelligible curses tumbled from Dean's mouth and Sam smiled against his skin.  
  
He'd just started with a third when Dean's hand fumbled against his hair.  
  
"Sam. Sammy." His voice was hoarse, and his fingers caught and tangled against Sam's scalp. "C'mon. Just," he panted, "just do it already." Nodding against his leg, Sam stood up and fumbled for the condoms. He ripped one off and tore it open. Sam shoved his jeans and boxers down, and rolled the rubber over his cock with an unsteady hand before dripping more lube onto his length. His eyes met Dean's, and the tremor grew. Even in the semi-darkness, he could make out the flush on Dean's cheeks, his throat, and spreading across his chest. His bottom lip was spit-slick and swollen, as if he'd been biting down on it while Sam worked him open.  
  
Sam's knees threatened to quit, and he leaned against the bed to reach Dean's mouth with his own. He pressed a kiss to his lips, just barely brushing them, then kissed him again, tongue sliding in. Dean moaned into his mouth, and Sam grabbed his hand, threading their fingers tight. With the other, he gripped the base of his cock and pressed the tip to Dean's entrance. As slow as he could manage with the heady lust riding him, he entered inch by inch.  
  
A sharp intake of breath made Sam stop and try to hold still even as his body screamed at him to keep going.  
  
Then Dean's free hand was clutching at his shoulder and he rasped out, "Don't you dare stop. Don't you fucking dare." Sam groaned and pushed in all the way, bottoming out with his balls snug against Dean's ass, leaving both of them gasping for air. Dean's tight heat gripped his cock like a vice and he desperately willed himself not to come.  
  
As soon as he recovered his control, Sam was moving, boots bracing against the floor as he began thrusting into Dean. He bent his knees, adjusting the angle, and Dean cussed. "Fuck!" Blunt nails raked over his shoulder blade.  
  
"Yeah?" He smiled against Dean's mouth. "You like that?"  
  
"Shut up," Dean hissed. " _Harder_." Liquid heat slid down his spine at the command. Sam hooked both arms under Dean's legs, spreading him wide, and began pounding into him. Sweat dripped from his temple and his balls slapped into Dean's ass with every thrust. "God, that's it, Sammy. Fuck me."  
  
The nickname made Sam's heart skip a beat, momentarily piercing the haze driving him onward. This was real, he told himself. This was real and Dean wanted him and it wasn't just the curse, it _wasn't_. Dean's hand snaked in between them and started stripping his cock. The sight burned into his brain, driving all rational thought out the window.  
  
"Shiiiit," Sam groaned. Dropping one leg, he pushed Dean's hand off his cock and replaced it with his own. He closed his hand over the head, pumping it so that the leaking head slid in and out, breaching his fist on every down stroke. Dean shuddered below him, eyes glazed.  
  
The familiar white heat was building in his balls, and Sam fought against it, wanting to drag this out. He wanted to spend hours taking Dean apart. But reality was smashing through years of suppressed fantasies and now there was no holding back.  
  
"Sam, Sammy - " Dean's voice slurred, grunting every time Sam pounded his prostate, and then his body seized. His cock jerked in Sam's grasp, and then he was coming into his hand, across his own chest, and that was all it took to push Sam over the edge.  
  
"Dean!" Orgasm ripped through him, his hips stuttered and he spent into the condom, one hand still locked around Dean's in a death grip as his vision blacked out.  
  
  
The first thing that registered when Sam's brain came back online was a stickiness coating one hand, with warm skin underneath. The evening came rushing back like a blow to the head. His hands twitched reflexively, and he realized his clean hand was still clasped in Dean's. Sam swallowed and listened to the heartbeat tripping against his ear. Tentative, calloused fingers moved from his shoulder to his hair, and Sam gathered his courage.  
  
Lifting his cheek off Dean's chest, Sam locked eyes with him. "Hey," he whispered.  
  
His brother stroked a thumb down the back of his hand. "Hey."


End file.
